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The other day, at 2 PM, I was waiting in my car in the lane by the Diptishree Nagar Bus-stop. Waiting for my D-i-L to arrive from her duties in the Euro Kids at Kukatpally where she teaches.
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...He took the gun absently from the table and absently slipped a slug into the breech. He was feeling pleased and proud, as champions do whose pre-eminence is undisputed. Connie had missed a mark like Beach - practically a haystack - at six feet. Beach had plugged Baxter - true - and so had young George - but only with the muzzle of the gun almost touching the fellow. It had been left for him, Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth, to do the real shooting.....
A damping thought came to diminish his complacency. It was as if a voice had whispered in his ear the word 'Fluke!' His jaw dropped a little, and he stood for a while, brooding. He felt flattened and discouraged.
Had it been merely a fluke, that superb shot from the library window? Had he been mistaken in supposing that the ancient skill still lingered? Would he - which was what the voice was hinting - under similar conditions miss nine times out of ten?
A stuttering, sputtering noise broke in upon his reverie. He raised his eyes to the window. Out in the stable yard, Rupert Baxter was starting up his motor-bicycle.
'Mr Baxter, m'lord.'
'I see him.'
An overwhelming desire came upon Lord Emsworth to put this thing to test, to silence for ever that taunting voice.
'How far away would you say he was, Beach?'
'Fully twenty yards, m'lord.'
'Watch!'
Into the sputtering of the bicycle there cut a soft pop. It was followed by a sharp howl. Rupert Baxter, who had been leaning on the handle-bars, rose six inches with his hands to his thigh...
...PGW in 'Lord Emsworth and Others'
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The other day, at 2 PM, I was waiting in my car in the lane by the Diptishree Nagar Bus-stop. Waiting for my D-i-L to arrive from her duties in the Euro Kids at Kukatpally where she teaches.
I was in the driver's seat with the right window of my old Maruti down. The area was busy and bustling as usual.
And then I saw a youth, around thirty, well-fed, dressed in brahminical robes, a mala or two round his neck, several rings on his fingers, and dots and dashes of kumkum and vibhuti on his face which was cheerful, rather. And he was walking alone with a book or two hid in his hands.
Suddenly he veered towards my car and stopped by its window and started talking to me. This is somewhat how it went:
"I can read your face"
"Is that so?"
"Yes, I can see that you are worried and passing through troubles"
"No"
"Oh, yes! I know a man by his face...let me tell you your past and future"
"I know my past and I have absolutely no interest in knowing my future"
"Still...I can give sastraic solutions to your troubles"
"I have no troubles...Please leave me alone"
"You don't have to pay me any dakshina (fees)"
"Payment is no issue...Just leave me alone"
"What is the harm?"
"Not in the mood"
And then I did a namaskar to him, closed my ears, and smiled...meanwhile my D-i-L arrived, and the astro-palmist-facist left me reluctantly...as if his luncheon plate had been snatched from him.
We drove off.
And I started wondering why, of all the folks in the street, I was picked up as the goat by the Punditjee whose time is money.
And then I recalled Indrajit Mitra's description of my looks as 'grumpy' all of 15 years ago. And age and events must have made them even grumpier now. For, it is only troubled souls that are unwilling bait to the future-tellers of Hyderabad.
He was wrong. My looks may be grumpy but my soul is not troubled...anymore than the rest of my friends at 70. With this difference that when alone I am always lost in thought...blog-thought. This is a curiosity for Hyderabadis who are forever active...making money, watching TV, browsing the net, doing puja, going on pilgrimages, reading religious books...indeed the retired Chief Engineer to whom I had gifted a copy of my 'Limericks & Light Verses' rebuked me for not writing on religion at my advanced age.
But whatever I do or write is my religion.
This reminds me of the story of a novice who approached a saint seeking spiritual knowledge. And sat down by him alone and sought clues to instant salvation. And the saint fell silent, and after an hour, the seeker got up and started to leave saying:
"I have wasted my time...you didn't tell me anything"
"I was trying to tell you for the whole hour...but you were not listening"
I could have humored my harmless astro-palmist-facist but it just happens that I have been always averse to knowing my future. Not because I am a member of one of the several Rationalist Societies of Hyderabad or a devotee of Richard Dawkins...bless his zeal! It is just that knowing my future takes the kick out of my life...what little of it is still there.
This incident recalled the Vaddipalem Swamiji who was visiting our place at Muthukur in 1953. My mom had always been partial to Swamijis of various breeds...so much so that she herself has become half-a-swamiji of late.
After a hearty lunch the Swamiji, who was about 60 and dressed in the default ocher robes, was reclining in Father's arm-chair. Father was dubious about Swamijis but was reluctant to thwart my mom. And all of them squatted on the floor by his chair. It was hot and humid and I, being the only male kid in the family, was given a hand-fan made of a palm leaf, asked to stand by the guru, and fan his earthy self.
And mom brought out the horoscopes of all her 5 kids (by then) and handed them over to Swamiji for him to read them and tell our future....feedback for the sumptuous lunch she gave him.
And the guy went about his job rather zealously...I could have told him without reading his horoscope or palm or face that he had at best a couple of decades to live during which he would continue doing what he did then to us.
I don't recall what he predicted about my sisters but I pricked my ears when my turn came...I was just 10...not yet 70 then.
And, egged on by my mom's incisive queries, this is the gist of what he said of me:
"This kid will be a blot on your family. He will turn an atheist and stop visiting temples and doing pujas. Indeed he will stop doing even his Gayatri Sandhyavandanam daily. On the other hand, he will remove his sacred thread and garland it around the neck of the passing dog. He will start eating non-vegetarian food. He will also smoke and drink. He will mock at our gods and goddesses. He will stop performing the annual rites for his ancestors on their D-days. In short he will make you feel sorry for having brought him forth and brought him up"
This was sort of a revelation to me since I was a 'good boy' and had absolutely no intention of doing any of the things he said I would do...
...But did them alright eventually...with a vengeance...to the abiding chagrin of my dear mom, now on 92...she had asked for it...
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